


Fuckery

by labasu



Category: Death Note
Genre: Freeform, M/M, spontaneous bullshit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:50:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3248603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/labasu/pseuds/labasu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gross B/A stories from Wammy's, all written in caffeine-induced manic fits where my deadline for an article is a few hours away. So whenever that happens, expect an update to this hot garbage. First chapter: A and B discover one of Watari’s prototype washing machines. They fuck in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wishwashery

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was written in November, in an hour. Feature at the time was on virtual reality bullshit. 
> 
> Coffee count: 3

B has mustard stains on his hands when he grabs A’s face.

"Can you suck your own dick?" he hisses.

A flicks some dried snot from the tip of B’s nose.

"Not for lack of trying," A says.

"Okay. Let’s remedy that."

There’s mud underneath A’s motheaten turtleneck. It worms its way down his spine when B hurls him into a Nope, one of the many rooms where enough of Wammy’s tinkering clusters in a space that even wily bored orphans take one look and echo the room’s namesake.

Here, there are snubber rings hooped around balls of copper wire, wrapped around rubber tubes running into white plastic barrels sloshing with water. A naked stator whirrs erratically, red-blue-green wires entwined around it vibrating and slinking past a greening rim enclosing a glass circle, spider cracks creeping towards the centre. A pulley squeaks as bad as chalkboard while the motor wrenches it down, making the machine’s rotations faster and faster.

"Get in."

A blinks at B, then deliberately, slowly lies down on the ground.

-

"This has to be for him. Only L would voluntarily want to be boiled, whisked about, and crushed instead of taking a shower," B explains, as bits of pubic hair escape his boxers, float in front of A’s floor-touching face, and land near his chin. "Stop moping already and get up. I’ve set the spin cycle for half an hour."

-

"I think I had a nightmare like this last week," A says.

"Save it for Freud, that kid loves dream shit," B says, as he pours a lid-sized amount of liquid detergent on his dick. 

-

"Aside from the fear of electrocution and the very real threat of drowning, I’m quite aroused," A says, as the water rises past his hips. The washer’s back end is getting noisy, a sign of imminent spinning, so he’s keen to get out as much passive-aggressive verbal abuse as possible. But with the lather on high, suds sting his eyes and make criticizing B’s attempts of cock-sucking difficult. "You’re doing better than expected too. Overall, we’re spending this Friday night much better than usual."

-

It’s obscene how hard this gets A; B’s vicious lurching into him heightened by the gravity of tumbling forward; the machine’s constant thrumming of violent vibrations; the sanitizing water than he’s choking on tasting like mustard and mud and B’s natural boyish filth and Tide: Clean Breeze; the squelching of their bodies falling on top of each other, splashing and B’s hand’s gripping fistfuls of A’s waist, hard enough to bruise, only to slip and A dropping hard on B’s dick and taking it in way too much, knees knocking into the metallic tub trapping them in laundry orgy hell and B’s teeth nipping at the corners of his ears as he’s wrapping his arms underneath A’s armpits and then A’s riding him, no, B’s on top of him, no, he’s riding him, and then it doesn’t matter because B’s pounding him so hard, and he’s so stupidly close to cumming that nothing matters anymore, nothing but how ruined and claustrophobic it feels to have B everywhere, how he can’t escape from B or his dick or wow, his own dick apparently, they’ve tumbled fast enough that the tip of his head brushes his lips and A can’t help but swipe a lick.

-

(It takes a year’s worth of blackmail A was saving up until B finally agrees that having round two in the dryer would be a bad idea.)


	2. Shittery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> filthy and disgusting ghost blowjobs, copious mariah carey, literal shit-talking L.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written in January. Feature was on escape rooms, and I had been playing all my interviews with sources simultaneously with Mariah Carey's Emotions. 
> 
> Coffee Count: 5 + 1 frappuccino

A’s ectocum tastes like tofu, but drips like glue from Beyond’s hands.

"I think you need to haunt more fruit," Beyond says. "I have like 30 samples of your cum in slides in that box behind you, and this is the grossest you’ve orgasmed."

A turns around. He drifts through Beyond and waves a hand through the dollar store cardboard, making the S Club 7 stickers on the lid peel and blacken.

"I can hit up Whole Foods later, I think there’s a sale on pineapple rings."

"Doesn’t L have a a tub of those already?" A asks. "I swear he’s going through another juice cleanse right now. Roger tried to exorcise me with blessed toilet water last night and L was shitting his ass off in the stall next to us."

"What did it sound like?" Beyond asks, a little too eagerly.

"Oh my god, are you getting hard again? Oh my god."

Beyond scratches at his boxers. He’s lying in A’s old bed. The sheets make him itch, all the bedding still unwashed since A died last month, right before the bi-annual Wammy’s Washing Day. Beyond hadn’t been arsed to chuck any of their clothes or bedding in the group hamper for their floor, so the room was starting to smell off. 

"I mean, L squats over the toilet right," Beyond starts to say, and A groans, a low sound that makes the wallpaper shrivel and fall off in curls. "So there’s probably a lot of loud plopping sounds with massive splashback. But taking into account that juice cleanse, I imagine you overheard—"

"Christ, stop," A says, gagging. "Can I just give you a blowjob and then fuck off back to class? I’m behind on my politics report."

"Help yourself," Beyond says, pointing at his dick. "Are you sure you don’t wanna skip? Every time Professor Chang sees you hovering in class, he breaks out into tears."

"Well he also cries whenever you roll your eyes back and convulse like I’m possessing you," A says while making an opening into the mortal realm, the small rift in the veil giving him enough space to fit his mouth. It’s still transparent, but now A can pull Beyond’s boxers down with his teeth.

"If he really thinks you can possess me while you’re still sitting across me in class, he deserves to drown in his tears," Beyond says solemnly, running a hand through A’s hair. He can’t feel anything, but watching his fingers phase through the murky outline of A’s head bobbing up and down is nice. "He won’t stop playing Wonderwall during break anyway, so fuck him."

"Speaking of shitty music, can you turn off whatever this is?"

"This? This is my signed copy of Mariah Carey’s Greatest Hits gracing your ungrateful dead ears. How dare you."

"Whatever it is, the high notes are really making it hard for me to manifest this mouth that’s sucking you off right now, so. Your choice."

Beyond sighs, long and deep. “Fine.”

He reaches over and turns the dial on his walkman, the speakers hooked up to it vibrating more with each turn.

"You. You just made it louder."

Beyond keeps turning. He stares straight into A’s eyes, mouthing the words to Mariah Carey’s Emotions as his ghost roommate stops mid-fellatio to give him a look, lifeless and devoid of hope for mankind.

"Fuck you too." A zaps the rift away and floats off, a levitating report advocating cannibal-led governments following him down the hall.


End file.
